Mechanics of Microfiction
by DJCaps
Summary: A collection of ficlets that are (mostly) 500 words or less! Thrill at the adventures of undercover agents! Watch as men and women do battle in imaginary football!
1. There's A Knot In My Chest

_(I like contests, even the ones where you don't really win anything. There's been a fic battle going on at the Milady/Milord LJ, and I've been hammering out some tiny ficlets that are 500 words or less! Hence this: a depository for all the scattered ideas floating around in the cavity space some call a brain. I hope you enjoy! The first one was untitled, so I'm just going to go with the prompt.)_

**There's A Knot In My Chest (And Only You Can Untie Me)**

He looked sharp in his tuxedo. She made a mental note that they should go to more places to find an excuse to get him into one. Such as fancy dinner parties. High roller casinos. Ummmm…. celebrity …. auctions? Her mind was drawing a blank right now. Maybe it was because his rugged face was so close to her right now, she could feel his breath on her face. Maybe it was because she was lying atop in a very compromising position, her black cocktail dress pressed against the fabric of his crisp white jacket.

Or maybe it was that gun he was holding to her head. Then again, she had a small revolver aimed squarely at his chest.

She shouldn't have been so careless. She'd been lying in wait behind the door, ready to disarm him when he entered. But immediately, she knew something was wrong. He suspected something. In that moment of uncertainty, she should've used surprise as her advantage, but before she could move he darted his hand forward, lightning quick, and they soon were rolling on the floor and reaching for their firearms. Her hair was tussled, her breathing was sharp, and her heart pounded, which she told herself was the adrenaline kicking in.

He swallowed his throat, and she watched his Adam's apple bob up and down. "There's a knot in my chest," he finally said.

She raised her eyebrows, her lips curling seductively. "And only you can untie me," she said, finishing the code phrase. With a swift graceful move, she lifted the gun barrel away. "Well met, Agent Dash."

He nodded and withdrew his own weapon. "Call me Flynn," he said, "Flynn Dash. The pleasure is all mine, Agent Gwendolyn Lottoticket." He narrowed his eyes, noticing that the woman's face was turning red. This was not a good sign. Not a good sign at all. "No. No. You can't. Annie…."

But it was too late. Annie Edison was all giggles. She collapsed on Jeff's chest, laughing. "I can't help it! These names! They're … totally … agh!"

Jeff smirked, patting Annie's back sympathetically. He looked up. "I suppose that means take six."

"I wish you two would take this more seriously," Abed said from behind the camera. "The Flynn Dash Spy Convention is in a month, and we have to submit our entry for Best Fan Vid at least a week ahead of time."

Jeff sighed, picking himself up off the ground. He offered his hand to Annie, who smiled as he lifted her up. "Christ, Abed," he said, "when did you start getting into off-brand James Bond rip-offs, anyway?"

"I don't know," Annie said, straightening Jeff's tie, "at least the wardrobe's a huge improvement over the Inspector Spacetime stuff. Seriously, though, did you just happen to have a white tux? It's a nice look for you."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Miss Lottoticket," said Jeff, winking, "but don't stop trying."


	2. Everdeens Triumphant

_(The prompt for this one: "I don't think the NFL had the slightest intention of taking me, except as maybe a water boy." It was asked of Joel McHale, in what I think was a reference to his college days as a football player for the Washington Huskies. Just guessin'.)_

**Everdeens Triumphant**

It was a Monday night at Troy and Abed's apartment. At one corner, Troy and Britta sat together. He was ripping up a piece of paper, while Britta had a look of confusion on her face. In the opposite corner sat Abed and Shirley. His eyes darted around the room, looking at the other people in the group, while she had her arms folded over her chest, seething. Jeff and Annie, had their fists clenched, their eyes glued to the screen at the counter in the corner.

4…

3…

"They are going to be so obnoxious," said Shirley, scowling.

2…

1…

Jeff leapt up from his seat, screaming triumphantly. Annie joined him (with a higher pitched yelp), then slapped his hand for a high five.

"It's official," said Pierce, checking from his laptop. He'd declined the game, declaring to "too gay," but he had no problem being treasurer. "Primrose Everdeens," he said, addressing Jeff and Annie, "I will return with your trophy."

"Ha!" she said, pointing at Troy and Britta. "In your face, Butt Assassins!"

"I don't get it," said Britta, turning to Troy, "I thought you were good at football."

"Not fantasy football!" whined Troy. "That's math and stuff! If anyone was gonna win, I would've said it was the Bake Off Royals," referring to Abed and Shirley. "I thought Abed out of anyone would be good at crunching down numbers."

Abed shook his head. "Admittedly, I got a little thrown by the rules. Plus, I used up all of our draft picks on Pittsburgh Steelers players. They had two Super Bowl rings in recent years, so naturally I assumed that they would replicate their successes. Plus they were in the Dark Knight Rises."

"I told you not to pick Ben Rothelisberger," said Shirley. "That man's evil."

"So how did you two ever manage the good picks?" Britta asked.

"Um," said Annie, blushing a little, "I picked most of them."

"Yeah," said Jeff, clapping her around the shoulder, "she selected most of them based on adorability."

"You had an adorability index?!" Troy said, incredulously. "Why didn't I think of that."

"That explains why you had Tom Brady at QB," said Shirley, nodding, "that man's handsome. And Alfred Morris, I guess, but he's more cute than anything."

"No, we picked him because of the Redskins stellar run blocking scheme," Annie said, tripping over some of the words. She looked up at Jeff. "That's what it was called, right?"

"You know football?" Britta asked Jeff.

"I might have been a tight end in high school."

Britta rolled her eyes. Leave it to Jeff to brag about his butt.

Pierce returned, plopping down a Hello Kitty cookie jar in between Jeff and Annie. He unscrewed the lid. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "your Greendale Fantasy Football Champions: the Primrose Everdeens!"

Jeff and Annie both fished a cookie out of the jar, which they clinked as if they were flutes of champaign. Victory never tasted so sweet.


	3. Everdeens Begin (Bonus)

_(Bonus! I was tempted to submit this to the previous prompt, too. It's a self-contained story using the same theme. However, given that there's a 500 word limit, I thought it might be cheating, since this and the previous story are sorta tied. So consider this a deep cuts!)_

**Everdeens Begin**

"Fantasy football?" asked Annie, questioningly. "Isn't that the sort of thing that jocks do play RPG's without having to play an RPG?"

She met Jeff at the study room, where he was filling out a paper form for the Greendale Fantasy Football League. "Yes," he said, "except that there's a pool to win. It was going to originally be $20 per team, but there's apparently a school policy against gambling so we had to cancel that idea. So instead the pot is a jar of chocolate chip cookies baked by Shirley."

"Oooh! But... why do you want me on your team? I don't know anything about sports."

Jeff tapped his pencil on the paper. "You'll find out pretty quickly," he said with a sly grin, "that the more you know about sports, the worse you do at this game. Back when I was working at the firm, there was this guy who made it a habit every week of trying to pick which teams would win. He got his wife into it, too. I think partly to show off, since his wife had no idea how football worked at all. Well, by the end of the year, she'd correctly predicted the winner 75% of the time to his 50%."

"Whoa! Impressive!"

"Yeah. They got divorced a year later though."

That startled Annie. "What," she said, "over a stupid game?"

"I'm not going to say that it was the only thing," said Jeff, "but men really hate it when a woman - especially one who's not obsessing with sports - beats them at their own game. It makes them feel small. Which I why when we get to the draft, I'm going to let you make all the picks. But first, the most important activity: we have to pick a name."

"Ooh, you get to pick a team name?" said Annie, giddily. "That's more up my alley."

"Yeah," said Jeff, tapping his chin with the eraser of the pencil. "I haven't come up with anything I really liked. Unless you can come up with something, I propose..."

"How about the Mockingjays?" Annie suggested.

Jeff narrowed his eyes. "Is that a Twilight thing?"

"As if," said Annie, rolling her eyes. "It's a Hunger Games thing. You know, that symbol of a bird that they put on all the covers and merchandise that they sell at Hot Topic? It's a genetically modified bird that was created when they mated Capitol jabberjays with mockingbirds."

"No," said Jeff, flatly.

"Awwww, Jeff..."

"Don't make those eyes at me! It's not going to work! I'm willing to go with anything except something that makes us sound like a pre-teen a capella boy band. I think I saw a trailer once. What was that one pale lady saying when she was on a stage reading names in front of everyone?"

"Effie Trinket?"

"I guess," said Jeff. "All these names are kinda silly."

"Um, she was calling out the name of Katniss' sister. Primmmmroosssee Everdeen!" said Annie in her best Elizabeth Banks impression.

"Let's go with that."

"Primrose Everdeens?" Annie crossed her arms. "And Mockingjays was too stupid?"

"It sounds like an actual team," said Jeff. "From, I don't know... Primrose, Wyoming?"

"I guess it works," said Annie, smiling. She put out her hand. "For the cookies?"

Jeff placed his large hand on top. "For the cookies," he swore.


End file.
